


Don We Now Our Day Of Peril

by Nyxierose



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2015-11-03
Packaged: 2018-04-29 16:53:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5135324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyxierose/pseuds/Nyxierose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Agreeing to help referee a church Christmas pageant is either the best or worst idea Abby Griffin has ever had. (Or both. Probably both.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don We Now Our Day Of Peril

**Author's Note:**

> Title is a misheard lyric from "Deck The Halls". It's appropriate.
> 
> Also there are going to be a few more little oneshots in this 'verse, stuff that didn't make it in here because it wasn't in the spirit (or the ship) of the project at hand but still definitely happened. Because g'dammit, I'm good at ensemble AUs and holiday fluff is the best.

It takes Abby Griffin exactly ten minutes to regret signing up to supervise the Christmas pageant. Three weeks ago, when she'd been "asked" if she'd do it, the idea had sounded sweet. Keep tabs on a dozen teenagers who could probably perform the annual ordeal in their sleep. How could that possibly go wrong?

More like how could it _not_ , she thinks, surveying exactly what she has to work with this year. There's no way this ends well, and she's already on thin ice. That's why she caved in, because repairing a reputation in a religious environment is a challenge at best and she figured she could use the boost. In hindsight, she's not _that_ desperate, but it's too late now.

The church basement is total madness. Frankly, Abby does not know who half of these kids are or who they belong to and she'd be cool with keeping it that way. The rest of them, she can identify on sight but can't place names to, which might be just as well. Clarke is not friends with any of the other kids in the room, and Abby has never been more proud of her daughter because chances are that maybe one of these little darlings is going to survive high school intact. _Maybe_. She's not exactly betting on it.

"There's a sign-up sheet."

And now, _now_ her nightmare is complete. They told her she'd have some assistance on this project, but she interpreted that as some old bat whose children have all moved to fricking Florida or someplace and thus inflicts her mothering instincts on anybody who's not smart enough to fight back. Not… well, the human personification of everything that makes Abby want to set herself on fire.

"What are you doing here, Kane?" she growls. She knows damn well, the universe clearly hates her right now, but she'd like to hear it outright before she starts contemplating self-destruction.

"Helping," the man replies. He is way too calm about this, which is a bad sign especially considering the circumstances. (Vera Kane has coordinated just about every church activity for longer than Abby has been alive. Vera naturally decided her type-A, compulsively-rule-following, total unholy asshole of a son needed an outlet for the above tendencies and decided to inflict him on the current project. Vera is in for some very nasty cosmic payback.)

"Like you even want to be here," Abby mutters.

"Nobody else wanted to do this. I'm not here _just_ to make your life miserable."

"But if that's an added bonus?"

"As cute as you are when you're homicidal, let's at least try to wrangle the junior heathens before we go there."

With that, Marcus pulls a whistle from his pocket - and who the hell just _has_ something like that on them?! - and uses it to get a dozen eyes on the front of the room. "Okay everyone, welcome to the first rehearsal for the annual whatever-this-is. Yes, I know this is exactly where you want to be a week after Halloween, but either you signed up for it or someone else did that for you so too bad. If you're going to quit, do it now and not the night before the performance. Everyone clear so far?"

None of the kids react. Abby wants to laugh. This is somehow going even _worse_ than she expected, and it's barely even started!

"Alright," Marcus continues. "I'm not sure who most of you are, which I'm sure was my selling point as designated idiot wrangler, so we're going to start with a roll call. Please verbally respond and say what part you want if you have any preference or just don't want to be a sheep."

"I don't think we have enough kids to have a sheep," Abby whispers.

"Standard script requires eight bodies. Nine if some little rodent wants to be King Herod. Any extras get to be shepherds, angels, or sheep dependent on their preference. There is _always_ a sheep." Marcus turns back to the kids, regaining most of his previous composure. "Okay, let's do this in order of signup. Lincoln… how exactly do you pronounce your last name?"

"You don't," a large and slightly intimidating boy in the back of the room says. "I'd actually just like to help with the set?"

"Good luck with that," Abby mutters, making a mental note that at least one of these kids could probably be talked into about anything.

"Alright, moving on. Jasper Jordan?"

"Monty and I were Wise Men last year. We can do that again."

Marcus decides to just assume that the boy attached at the hip to the loud one is Monty and crosses that one off his list. "Clarke Griffin?"

"No preferences." Clarke, as per usual, is in the front row. Abby would be proud if she wasn't so worried some of these kids are going to try to eat her baby alive. (Clarke's fierce, but she's also petite and blonde and fifteen and gets underestimated real easy. Protective parenting is a necessity.)

"Elise Monroe?"

"Baaaaaa," a girl in the middle of the room laughs.

The roll call goes pretty smoothly from there, and while Abby's tempted to ask everybody to wear nametags anyways, they're all at least pretty distinct entities. The only one who actually seems to want to be there is one Octavia Blake, who looks more dangerous than a teenage girl really ought to and enthusiastically volunteers to be the Angel in a way that makes Abby deathly afraid to say no. It's just as well, though - the group veers male, Elise and her friend Harper probably shouldn't be given actual lines, and Clarke is going to be Mary. Period. This, at least, Abby figures out before the end of the practice. Everything else, she will worry about later. Or make Marcus deal with, since he's running the show anyways.

And okay, it's not a total calamity _yet_. At the very least, they'll probably pull it off without _intentionally_ setting anything on fire. That's a start, right?

\--------

"Mary is always the prettiest girl, Joseph is always the oldest boy, and _we_ are completely screwed."

"What the hell _is_ that?" Abby snaps, trying to snatch a paper out of Marcus's hands. It's Wednesday, her only day off during the week, and they're talking strategy in a small café. Or at least they're trying to.

"Casting notes from some previous victim… I mean, pageant director. Apparently there's a routine to this. Also, there's a list from last year and if nothing else, the Three Wise Men had better know what they're doing at this point. Everyone else we've got this year is new."

"No shit. And I'm guessing you have a battle plan?"

Marcus sighs. "Not even close. If I'm eyeballing things correctly, our oldest boy doesn't even want to be in the damn thing at all."

"And we're going to respect his wishes because he seems normal," Abby counters before this can go where she's worried it will. "Besides, if that kid thinks he can build a manger, good for him. Means we don't have to do it."

"We don't have a manger?" Marcus gasps.

"Version I heard, the old ladies cleaned out the storage area and sold it in a yardsale. So no, we do not have a manger, but we do have a seventeen-year-old who could probably fix that if it means he doesn't have to talk in front of people."

"And here I thought you were going to save your evil brilliance for the week of the performance."

"Neither of us actually want to be doing this, Marcus. I'm in because I'm a decent parent; you're in because you're forty-five and still haven't learned how to tell your mother no. I'm going to make the best of this. Either help, starting with giving me that casting sheet, or quit now before you have some stupid idea that I end up doing all the legwork on because you don't have any idea how to-"

Reluctantly, he hands over the set of papers. "We still need to nail this down as soon as possible. We're already down two bodies, so I sort-of-"

"You weren't kidding about King Herod."

"Damage control. Give the junior sociopath something appropriate."

"And you said I'm the evil genius here," Abby laughs.

"Point taken. Rest of that look okay?"

"You'd better be willing to take responsibility for this. I don't see any _obvious_ problems, but that age group… there's gonna be something."

\--------

There are actually several problems with Marcus's "totally bulletproof" casting assignments:

1\. It takes Clarke Griffin and Bellamy Blake exactly ten seconds to go from tolerating each other to becoming mortal enemies. Abby has researched Christmas pageant catastrophes, she has a very good knowledge of _everything_ that can go wrong, but she's fairly sure there has never been a pageant in which Mary and Joseph have tried to murder each other. First time for everything?

2\. Turns out one of last year's Wise Men was one of the kids who bailed on the production, and the only sensible replacement is one Nathan Miller, who (a.) _really_ does not want to be there and (b.) spent most of the first practice rolling his eyes at the dynamic duo he is now stuck playing nice with for the rest of the holiday season. Thankfully, he's one of the quieter kids in the group, so it's not an _obvious_ catastrophe. Yet.

3\. Let's give all three remaining girls parts where they'll have things to hit people with. _Great_ idea. Elise Monroe and Harper Cunningham are probably only hazardous to themselves, so Abby doesn't have _that_ bad a feeling about handing them shepherds' staffs, but then there's Octavia Blake and that's just a whole other mess of crazy. Technically, the Angel of the Lord is not supposed to have any sort of weapon, but there are good odds that's going to change and it makes Abby slightly nervous.

(3.5. How questionable is it to ask the unofficial student director to keep a very close eye on one of his peers? And how likely is it the poor kid will actually do it? Answers - fuck if Abby cares and oh yes he will. Lincoln is either sweet or just plain scared of everyone, and "please make friends with Octavia because she's going to be a problem but not anywhere near our biggest one and someone may or may not need to physically stop her from some sort of destructive behavior and you totally have time for that, all you need to build is a manger and that shouldn't be _that_ hard" is apparently an effective coercion technique. Or perhaps, Abby worries as she watches the two misfits interact, it isn't even necessary. The weird ones always flock together, and if those two fall in love during the next month, they've probably earned it.)

4\. John Murphy's entire existence, but mostly the part where asking the resident musical prodigy and total asshole to play one of history's great villains is either the best or worst thing about this affair and _there is no way of knowing which yet_.

5\. The fact that Marcus, bless him, seems to have no idea about _any_ of these potential disasters. This _would_ be the first time in the thirty-odd years they've known each other that Abby's ever seen him this calm. He's either in total denial or he knows damn well what he's doing and wants to watch it all burn, and she's not sure which of those options scares her more.

(6. The fact that Abby has been widowed for five years and was totally cool with the idea of being celibate for the rest of her life and now suddenly her lifelong headache is both physically attractive and a functional human being and she's blaming this one on the beginnings of menopause because there is no way in _hell_ that developing feelings for Marcus is a good idea. She's too old for this. He's a dick. Like, that's literally his entire personality. Except that now it _isn't_ , and maybe it's desperation talking but she wants to see where this could go. Except she won't, because they are co-running an Event and the kids are going to speculate on their relationship regardless so it's best not to give them anything more to work with than is absolutely necessary. But a month from now… there's a chance.)

\--------

Estimated disaster level - after the second practice, Abby learns where every fire extinguisher and first aid kit in the church is located. She also makes a list of which kids to check for _actual_ weapons before the performance (the siblings Blake, and she wishes she were surprised) and which of them probably need to be medicated (all of them) and for what (a whole list of things). It's going to be a very long month.

\--------

_PAGEANT EXILES CHAT GROUP_

_ob:_ betting pool on our minders hooking up?

 _cg:_ you do realize one of them is my mother, right?

 _ob:_ yes, but she is still a red-blooded human and still completely capable of hatesex

 _cg:_ i'm never gonna unsee that mental image

 _nm:_ neither will the rest of us

 _ob:_ is anyone in or not? doesn't need to be actual money, can be whatever any of you want to put up.

 _jj:_ illegal hallucinogens okay?

 _ob:_ what level are we talking?

 _mg:_ the still we hooked up in jasper's parents' shed kinda… had side effects.

 _jj:_ it's solid, you swallow it, and it makes everything look really pretty.

 _ls:_ i approve.

 _ob:_ well done l!!

 _em:_ can we put a betting pool on *them*?

 _bb:_ we're talking about my baby sister here.

 _ob:_ yeah, i'd kinda prefer if we focus on the important situation here - how likely it is that ms. griffin and mr. kane are gonna bang between now and the public execution and what we need to do to up the odds.

 _mg:_ you're an evil genius, o.

 _ob:_ damn right i am. now let's talk strategy here…

\--------

"They're conspiring," Abby says at the Wednesday evening logistical meeting.

"Oh?"

She passes her phone across the table, an amused smirk on her face. "Read it and weep."

"And you got that _how_?"

"Let me put it this way - the only good thing to come out of the last ten days is the confirmed proof that my daughter does not hate me as much as I previously thought."

"Considering what they _could_ be doing…"

"At what point will this register with you? Not only are we supposed to make sure that ten volatile teenagers don't commit major-scale sacrilege in front of probably a hundred and fifty people, Marcus, but at least half of them think you and I are… something."

"You can actually say it, Abby."

"No, because none of them have a good theory yet. Other than that they think we need to get over ourselves, which is never going to happen and I have half a mind to-"

"Whatever you're about to, don't."

"Excuse me?"

"That age group? Tell them not to do something and they'll do it harder. If we ignore that situation, on the other hand, they'll get bored and move onto some other idiot scheme."

"I hate when you're right…"

\--------

And okay, maaaaybe part of the panic is because the kids have a definite point. But Abby's not going to admit that to anyone, least of all the other potential victim here. She has too much else to worry about.

\--------

Ten days later, the sanity-questioning hits a new level on Work Day. Apparently the Saturday before Thanksgiving is traditionally the day when whatever unfortunate soul gets stuck with the technical elements of the production does what they're gonna do, and Abby manages to get the short straw of supervising. Because _clearly_ she is the logical person to watch two teenagers assemble the backdrop of a Nativity using… is that PVC pipe? What the hell?

"Cute," another person mutters behind her, also watching the scene.

Abby whirls around. "And who are you?" she asks, eyeing up the intruder. College-age girl, red hoodie, probably not supposed to be here…

"Raven. Designated A/V person for this calamity."

"And you're here because?"

"Needed to talk logistics. What microphones do you need and where?"

"We don't."

At this, Raven rolls her eyes. "Wrong answer, Mrs. G. If nothing else, this is gonna be such a fun reason for me to play with the dangly ones."

"And if I say I don't trust any of the kids with equipment?"

"Dangly ones. None of yours will even be able to reach them, except maybe that kid over there…"

"He's not actually in the production. Something about a terrifying fear of public speaking."

"But his girlfriend is?"

Abby takes a moment to try to see whatever the hell Raven's seeing - from a distance, she supposes, the tiny pixie who's using the backdrop as some sort of jungle gym and the larger boy who's trying and failing to stop her do look suspiciously couple-y. Upclose, she knows better. (She is not allowed to meddle in anyone's entanglements without Very Valid Reason, but some people genuinely do become better people when they're fluttery and she's willing to bet that Octavia is such a person. Or at least she's willing to _hope_.)

"It's not what it looks like," Abby says after a few tense moments. "Trust me."

Raven rolls her eyes again. "Whatever. So, dangly choir mic setup and then one off to the side for readings and whatever speech you're gonna do."

"Speech?" Abby repeats.

"Tradition. Before the production, somebody involved talks about how lovely all the kids were to work with."

"Did whomever created that tradition _ever_ have to work with teenagers?"

"No idea. But hey, it wouldn't be the first time somebody lied in church…"

\--------

_PAGEANT EXILES CHAT GROUP_

_ob:_ who's doing what over thanksgiving?

 _jj:_ what'cha mean?

 _ob:_ we don't have practice the sunday after. which means we should do something.

 _bb:_ o, if you're about to suggest what i think you're about to suggest…

 _ob:_ calm down, big brother. i was thinking christmas caroling.

 _bb:_ in our neighborhood? we're gonna get killed.

 _ob:_ valid point.

 _cg:_ we could do it in mine? fancy subdivision, lots of old people…

 _bb:_ you're encouraging this?

 _cg:_ yes, because unlike you i actually have a soul.

 _nm:_ prediction for the play - mary  & joseph turn into a murder-suicide.

 _mg:_ seconded.

 _jj:_ do we know if anyone's going to film us?

 _ls:_ my cousin might. if she comes. she doesn't want to but she probably will.

 _nm:_ tell her she has to because we're gonna need proof of this disaster.

 _ls:_ or i could do it.

 _ob:_ or you could. <3

 _em:_ remind me, who has how much on them?

 _cg:_ are we doing christmas caroling or not?

 _jm:_ i'm in.

 _ob:_ who even added you to the group chat?

 _hc:_ i did. all of us victims are in. speaking of, should i add our a/v chick? she technically has power but she's not that much older than us and i'm conflicted.

 _bb:_ NO.

 _cg:_ can anyone hear me?

 _ob:_ loud and clear. i'm in if everyone else is…

\--------

A brief list of things that happen during the most unusual group bonding activity ever:

1\. Yes, Murphy is a prick, but he's surprisingly good to have around for all things musical. This has already been established, considering he's stuck running that part of the pageant and all, but it takes a different tone when he's trying to shuffle the rest of the group through a range of holiday songs both religious and secular. The fact that he's the only one who knows _all_ the words helps a bit.

2\. Harper and Monroe decide that part of the act needs to include them butchering "Santa Baby". It goes about as well as one might expect, which is to say that it _doesn't_.

3\. To the surprise of absolutely no one in the group, Jasper and Monty know zero words to anything and yet they think they do. Which is annoying but harmless… until the group gets to "We Three Kings", which they are supposed to perform in the Christmas pageant in exactly two weeks, and… they improvise. Dangerously. Miller, who is starting to think he's the only person involved in the trainwreck who actually cares about it (and boy isn't that an unexpected turn of events), wants to strangle both of them. (He also kinda wants to kiss Monty despite this, but he decides to put those feelings on hold for a while because _now is not the time_.)

4\. At the third house they go to, Octavia gets the "brilliant" idea of telling people they're raising money for a charity. The rest of the group thinks she's lying through her teeth, and in the beginning she is, but two days later the local Coats For Kids campaign gets an anonymous hundred-dollar donation soooo. (She does keep a little of the money, but _most_ of it gets donated and she regrets nothing.)

5\. Clarke kicks Bellamy in the shin on four separate occasions. He responds by temporarily stealing her hat. Everyone else ignores them because nobody's dumb enough to get in the middle of that war.

6\. For the first time in too long, Lincoln feels like he's a part of something. (And then he gets hit in the face with a snowball because standing between Jasper and Monty and being half a foot taller than both of them is apparently a self-destructive idea.)

7\. From the safety of her front porch, Abby watches her charges terrorize the neighborhood and feels oddly proud of them. Proud enough that she texts Marcus a picture with the caption "see, they can be cute SOMETIMES". (The fact that said picture ends up online several hours later is irrelevant.)

\--------

"It's in ten days and I'm still not sure everyone will show up."

"They'll show up. I wouldn't be surprised if one of them is bleeding, but they'll show up."

Abby rolls her eyes. "Just because they're suddenly acting like perfect little angels does not mean-"

"You worry too much."

"I'm the one with something to lose here. Not you. You're an anomaly, and people do talk, but not anywhere near on my level. This goes to pieces, it's my ass on the line. Do you have _any_ idea what I have to deal with?"

Marcus looks at her like he's well aware he's not about to get a choice in this. "No?"

"Church ladies are vicious. Sure, they look nice, but then you do one thing they don't want and they can make your life miserable. Bonus points if you don't play by their rules about what a tragedy case _ought_ to look like, which… I fail at. Spectacularly. And if the next two weeks don't end in bloodshed or two of the kids doing inappropriate sexual things in a supply closet and getting found by the wrong person, which is an even scarier and more likely scenario, then _maybe_ they will give me space to breathe. _Maybe_."

"What do you need me to do?"

"Beyond what you're already doing? Nothing. There's nothing we can do. I know it's petty to be this worried about my reputation, but my entire future in this community, _not to mention my daughter's_ , is in the hands of nearly a dozen adorable little cockroaches. I like them, okay? Most of them are genuinely good kids, all of them are at least salvageable, and… I trust them as far as I can throw them. I can't do more than that. Not when they're apparently determined to ruin me."

As the temptation to cry begins to descend, Abby walks away. The planning meetings are a formality at this point - there's nothing left _to_ plan. Everything that's ultimately going to happen has already been set into motion, and there's not a goddamned thing she can do about it but stand back and watch. And honestly, the last thing she wants is to drag someone else down with her, especially someone so… confusing.

She doesn't remember what the issue was anymore, but she's spent the last twenty-odd years trying to outsmart and one-up Marcus Kane and she's done a pretty good job of it. They were practically children when it happened, she knows that, and it was probably not her fault - but beyond that, the origins of their dynamic have been lost to time. The consistent parts, she has down. They're both stubborn, compromise isn't a word that either of them consciously knows, and they keep getting stuck together on projects neither of them actually want to do. This is just the latest installment, and it definitely won't be the last. The universe isn't that kind.

But somewhere along the way, he stopped being such a dick and she didn't notice until now that maybe he does have a multidimensional personality. She expected madness when she found out she was stuck with him for this nightmare, not… sympathy and support and whatever the fuck is even going on here. And maybe the kids are onto something when they speculate about the nature of that relationship, although Abby's not inclined to give them the satisfaction of being right. Just because it _could_ be a good idea doesn't mean it actually _is_.

But god, she wonders what it'd be like if he held her. It's so innocent, what she wants. Just the physical manifestation of what's already happened. Completely innocent, almost hopeful.

Dammit, she's turning forty-five in six weeks. She's allowed to be a romantic.

\--------

If it's even possible, the dress rehearsal goes even _worse_ than Abby's wildest nightmares.

On run-through one, the shepherds somehow find their way on top of the scenery, and for a moment Abby is seriously worried about two tiny girls being six feet off the ground before she remembers that nobody's going to blame her for a broken limb if one of the other kids films it. Which Murphy does, because the little rat is easily amused and has nothing to do during the non-musical portions (it has been decided by popular vote that the pageant does _not_ need King Herod to make an appearance, but it does need a competent pianist). Miraculously, despite the fact that Harper and Monroe are deceptively small people, neither of them gets hurt. At least not from their climbing experiment - Harper trips on her robe later that afternoon, hits her head on a chair on the way down, and gets a hell of a bruise that makeup will not cover. By that point, nobody cares.

During run-through two, Raven the a/v girl nearly short-circuits a speaker by accident, causing a horrific boom that nobody is prepared for - especially not the Wise Men, who are clustered around it while they wait for their cue. This turns out to be a blessing in disguise, because that trio is a lot easier to herd around when they're a little shaken.

And right after run-through two, no more than a minute after everyone decides to take a break, the fire alarm goes off for no apparent reason whatsoever.

As far as Abby has been informed, they are the only group using the church on this lovely Friday evening. That, in turn, means that the alarm is probably going off because of some sort of electrical problem or something even worse, which means the kids had better know to get their asses out of the building because she is _not_ risking her life to make sure everybody makes it to the parking lot. Not happening. If Marcus wants to do that, wherever the hell he's wandered off to, that's _his_ problem. It darn well isn't hers.

Which isn't to say she runs out to the parking lot or anything. She doesn't, because she's practicing wearing the heels she's all but expected to wear tomorrow night and she feels wobbly and too old for this, but she calmly makes it outside and does not get hurt in the process. That's a start.

Once she's a safe distance from the building, she starts counting heads. Monroe, Harper, outside before her and in perfect condition. Clarke, Bellamy, making hissing cat noises at each other but outside and alive. Murphy, lurking a distance from the main group and side-eyeing everyone else as per usual. Jasper, Monty, Miller, still mentally recovering from the incident with the speaker but they wander out intact. That leaves… four bodies missing. Fantastic.

"So which one of your little darlings set it off?" Raven asks, sauntering over with a knowing look on her face.

"Which one did _what_?" Abby counters, hoping she's mishearing something.

"I took a detour. Alarm system is really, really not hard to figure out. Like two buttons and you can tell if it went off because of smoke or because somebody pulled a lever. Course, it still alerts the fire department regardless, so good luck explaining this one…"

Abby looks at the group, realizing that the missing younger bodies are one impulsive teenage girl and her apparently useless minder. Fantastic.

"Oh, and your angel's on the roof."

 _Fuuuuuck_.

There are no-win scenarios and then there's this one. "On the _roof_?"

"Yep." Raven points to the other scene unfolding, a small figure where there really shouldn't be one and a slightly larger one on the ground below. "I don't think she's gonna jump or anything, but I'm pretty sure I know which of your kids got bored."

"Great," Abby mutters. She wants to scream. She wants to full-on panic, because explaining this calamity to the fucking fire department is going to be an _ordeal_ and her sanity isn't going to survive that. "What do we do?"

"Like I'd know," Raven laughs.

"What would you do, then? If you were me?"

"Run like hell? Claim innocence? Offer a sacrifice?"

None of those sound like an acceptable solution, but before Abby can try to come up with a better plan, there are sirens. Fantastic.

And… there's the final missing body, standing right outside the front doors like nothing's wrong.

From her vantage point, Abby can't see or hear what Marcus tells the firemen, but apparently it works. Nor can she figure out exactly how or why Octavia comes down, and she decides for the sake of everything that she's not touching that situation. She's not touching anything anymore.

The pageant is in less than twenty-four hours and Abby is more worried _now_ than she has been since this thing started. And now, now she has reasons.

\--------

"We need to talk."

Nobody wants to hear those words two hours before a major event. Marcus _definitely_ does not want to hear that, especially not from his slightly manic co-director - and on second thought, screw "slightly", Abby looks like hell and there's no diplomatic way to tell her. (Or any way that won't end with him in an ambulance or a body bag. He's slightly in love with her and equally terrified, okay?)

"Go for it."

"Did you have the no live animals talk with everyone like I asked you to?" Abby growls.

"Yes. Who set loose what?"

"There's a Golden Retriever running around right now with several hundred cotton balls superglued to its fur. According to Harper, it's supposed to be a sheep."

"And the problem is?"

"It looks very suspiciously like your mother's dog, Marcus. _Very_ suspiciously. Which means that if she happens to see this mutilation, you're even more fucked than I am. Are we clear?"

"I'll deal with it. You go… hide somewhere. I've got this under control."

"Did I not make the situation clear enough?"

"You did. I heard you. And I can handle it."

"If you screw this up…"

"Have a little faith, Abby. It's Christmas."

"It's the first full weekend of December, asshole. Holiday isn't for another two weeks."

"Close enough. I've got this, okay?"

\--------

Marcus's surprisingly effective damage control plan, in order:

1\. Track down the dog. Confirm that it is, in fact, Penelope. (Internally roll his eyes because god forbid his mother give her dog a normal name.) Lead Penelope away from the younger girls because the furball's already traumatized enough without spending more time around Monroe and a jumbo bottle of superglue.

2\. Check list, confirm that none of the kids really have anything to do for the next few hours besides wait around and not cause any major trouble (and stay out of the kitchen because the church ladies are encamped and do not need that sort of distraction).

3\. Track down Lincoln and ask the boy to deal with the dog situation. Make comment about basement bathrooms and sufficiently explain why the furball needs a bath _now_. Explain situation again, in slightly more detail, when Octavia randomly turns up and wants to "help". Hope that the dog will be enough to sufficiently cockblock the teenagers if necessary.

4\. Salt the front walkway because it's starting to snow and why trust someone else to do something you can do yourself.

5\. Make sure all the other kids are accounted for, not currently bleeding, and not in any compromising positions. Confiscate staple-gun from Jasper but do _not_ confiscate the supply of fake mistletoe.

6\. Check in with Raven and confirm everything on her end is functional. (It is. She looks slightly too pleased with herself but there's no time to worry about that right now.)

7\. Confirm that Abby is still alive and won't have her breakdown until _after_ the ordeal is over with. (She's fine, or at least she says she is. Believing her is a stretch but hey, it's Christmas, he'll grant the benefit of the doubt here.)

8\. Get slightly sidetracked and watch Lincoln and his cousin try to herd a wet, cold, and frightened Penelope the not-sheep into the back of a small car.

9\. Return to hideaway, put on suit, take a few deep breaths, and prepare to face the madness.

\--------

"It's traditional at these things for one of the adult minders to say something about how lovely it was to work with teenagers and how perfect all of them are," Abby starts out. The speech she wrote three weeks ago is irrelevant now and lost somewhere far away, so she's winging it. "I can't do that. I could tell you all that I have had the best experience of my life working with the nine kids you're about to see and the one you won't, but that would be a lie. Yeah, they're good kids. They put up with me slowly losing my sanity for the last six weeks, and it wasn't _their_ fault that happened. They're resilient, they're smarter than I expected and smarter than I would've liked, and… I don't know what's going to happen in the next hour. I really don't. For all I know, some of them might have something planned that I don't know about that'll cause problems. Or it might be the most mundane Christmas pageant any of you has ever attended. I don't know. I genuinely do not know, so I can't say anything nice about specific people right now. It's not right, and maybe it never will be. So, on that note… Merry Christmas and please join me in hoping that Mary and Joseph don't actually hurt each other this time."

Abby kicks off her shoes as she retreats to the back of the auditorium, making no eye contact with anyone. It's all out of her hands now. And the moment the play is over with, while the kids lead roughly a hundred and fifty people in a surprisingly enthusiastic rendition of "Joy To The World", she runs.

\--------

In the grand scheme of things, the play goes well. None of the kids screw up any major lines, nobody gets hurt, nothing blows up or catches fire. If things were just a little bit different, Marcus would be proud of all of them. He _is_ proud, he thinks - this herd of misfits pulled themselves together quite nicely, and the adult supervision had nothing to do with it. He certainly didn't - all he did was keep a loose eye on them and diplomatically explain that songs used in the program had to be religious in nature. (Not that he would've minded seeing the kids do "Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer", at least not the version Jasper and Monty reworked, but it would've been inappropriate. Last year the old ladies got annoyed by a choral take on "White Christmas"; nothing's worth risking that again.) Christmas pageants are _easy_ for the adult minders, at least on his side of things. Abby did more, because she always did more, but then she… _well_.

Sufficient to say, it's unusual for this sort of thing to include one of the directors running for cover before it even starts and then disappearing completely once it's over.

He's worried about her, okay? He's worried because he's known her for this side of forever and she's usually the most composed person who makes regular appearances in his life. She's the only person he's ever know who's survived losing a spouse - one of the most justifiable excuses he can think of for unusual behavior - with full dignity intact. But the last few weeks, he's seen a new and terrifying side of her and _god_ it hurts. She's breaking, she's openly asking for someone to help her, and he's almost sure it's his fault somehow and he can't deal with that.

If she needs something, anything, he'll help her carry that weight. She just needs to actually say something.

As quickly as he can, Marcus works his way through the horde. Anyone who tries to corner him about the production is politely told to go talk to one of the kids instead because they did everything thank you very much, and if a little bit of the responsibility falls on the a/v girl then that's not his problem. Maybe she'll get the short straw next year, Marcus thinks. Compared to what a fantastic job he and Abby did, maybe a twenty-two-year-old genius with a taser in the cell-phone pocket of her purse is exactly what this annual ritual needs. She'd liven it up, definitely, and he wants to watch that.

Next year, though. In the here and now, everything that matters to him is one tiny person who he can't fricking find.

He searches up and down, sticks his head in every possible room and doubles back again to make sure he hasn't missed her, and yet there's no sign. She's not in the building, but when he finally makes it outside he sees that her car is still in the far corner of the parking lot. She's here _somewhere_ , he just can't-

He's distracted from his thought pattern by muffled sobbing in the distance. He turns and sees her then, curled in a ball several yards away, distinctive only by her bright red dress. It's snowing hard now and the dress barely covers anything and she's not wearing a coat and okay _now_ he's worried.

"Hey. Hey, it's okay."

"No it's not," she hisses, but she doesn't fight back when he kneels next to her and wraps his arm around her. She's absolutely frozen, and in a heartbeat he sheds his jacket and places it around her shoulders. Not much, but it's a start.

"I'm here. You're okay. Talk to me. What's wrong?"

"I can't do this anymore. I can't fucking do this. I pretend I'm strong when I'm more breakable than anyone, I obsess too much about things I shouldn't, I fuck up. I turned what was supposed to be a way to reconnect with my daughter, who's still mad at me five years after her dad died, into a chance to prove myself to people who don't even care about me. I'm too human for my own good."

"Listen to me, Abby." He pulls her closer, waits for her to fight back but she doesn't. "You're perfectly human. It's your fire that kept this half-assed project from completely going to pieces. You underestimate just how much those kids like you - far more than they like me, I'm sure of that."

"Please. They like you fine."

"I wouldn't be so sure. You're the one of us who isn't afraid of their own heart."

"You don't even know me," she mutters, trying not to laugh despite everything. "Not afraid of myself? You have _no_ idea, Marcus."

"Then tell me."

"When they started talking about us, I wanted to hurt them because they were _right_. Because as much as I wanted to pretend otherwise, you make me feel things, and I've been forced to face that by a pack of teenagers who hate me. They hate me and yet they still see that I want you. How is this my life?" She turns her head, locks eyes with him, doesn't care that her mascara's all over her face and she looks like death. "I was planning to pine after you for another ten years, but I guess I don't get that option. And now I sound like a disaster. Really, who the fuck confesses their love under circumstances like this? Normal people don't do that! Normal people don't do any of this! And yet-"

He kisses her then, cups her face in his warm hands and gently presses his mouth to hers. She's soft, so soft, and frozen cold but less so as they shift and almost become one. There's a peace to it, unexpected comfort as she lets herself fall into him and lets herself trust that he'll help her back together. They can work through feelings later, decide exactly what they are and what to do from here, but right now she just wants to be breathed in. And she is, and it is good.

"I wanted to wait until we were inside to do that," he says once they break apart. "There's mistletoe all over the place, one of the kids found a staple gun and-"

"And other people will get plenty of use out of it."

"We should go in. You're frozen, and there are refreshments, and people will be wondering-"

"I don't care. I don't care anymore."

"First point still stands. Weren't you the one who yelled at me about frostbite a few years ago?"

"Probably." She pushes herself up, and he notes that her shoes have disappeared again. "Don't let go of me?"

He nods, solemnly taking her hand. "Never."

 


End file.
